


Stuck In Stone

by Chilli_Bin



Category: Captain America (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Hydra (Marvel), M/M, Spideypool - Freeform, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-31
Updated: 2016-08-31
Packaged: 2018-08-12 04:13:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,250
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7920073
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chilli_Bin/pseuds/Chilli_Bin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Tony's right, you can't change what happens," Bucky says. "Everything’s set in stone. We’re stuck forced to live lives that have already been decided for us. And no matter how hard we tried to avert it, we’ve still ended up at this exact moment. And I know what I have to do.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Stuck In Stone

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first Stucky/Stony fan fiction so any advice or constructive criticism would be awesome!

_**Brooklyn, March 4th 1942** _

 

**Bucky**

There’s a deafening cheer from the crowds of people as fireworks shoot up and shower the sky with a million different colours of light. I hardly notice them. My eyes are on him the whole time.

We weave our way through the stampede of people, muttering rushed apologies whenever either of us bump into someone. The World Exposition of Tomorrow is supposedly the next biggest thing, meant to distract Americans from the horrors of the ongoing war. Ridiculously, judging by the smiles on the faces of everyone gathered here, it seems to be working. How easy it is for them to forget about the war. But not for me. There are some things that can never been unseen. Nevertheless, I paint on a smile and pretend like I’m having a good time. Steve, of course, sees straight through my facade.

“You know what? I’ve just realised that coming here was a probably bad idea,” he yells, having to speak loud in order to be heard. “There are far too many people.”

“No, this is great.”

I try my best to sound enthused but an arched eyebrow form Steve tells me he doesn’t buy it. He opens his mouth to reply but at that moment, Howard Stark walks out onto the stage and the crowd around us bursts into cheer. Whatever Steve is saying is swept away in all the commotion.

“What?!” I yell. “I can’t- I can’t hear you!”

Steve leans in closer to be heard. “I said, do you want to head back home? This is your last night after all, isn’t it?”

“Yep,” I grimace, “Hundred and seventh, Sergeant James Barnes, shipping out for England first thing tomorrow morning.”

“Come on, let’s head home then,” Steve says.

He extends his arm so I link mine around his, then we head for the parking lot. As we leave, I can hear billionaire Howard Stark showing off his latest gadget he’s been working on, promising that in a few short years there will be flying cars. A bit far-fetched if you ask me.

It’s a while before the noise dies down, even with all the car windows closed. When I make a turn into one of the more quieter street of Brooklyn, it’s like entering a whole other world. Half the apartment buildings are cast in shadows, and the other half are lit by dim, flickering street lights. It may not seem like much, but it’s home to me.

When the car engine turns off, there’s a sudden silence that makes me uneasy. At war, whenever things got a little too quiet I always worried that something worse was about to happen. The ‘calm before the storm’ and all that. But one look at Steve and I’m able to forget all of my worries. He flashes a smile at me, tearing me from my thoughts.

“Are we going to head inside or are you planning on sleeping in the car for the night?” Steve asks.

I roll my eyes at him in response. The car door squeaks as I open it then step out of the car, Steve does the same. He goes to unlock the door to the apartment while I check I’ve locked the car. You can never be too careful in a neighbourhood like this. After Steve flicks the lights on, light from our hallway shines out onto the street. I quickly shut the door, lock it, then dump my coat on the first chair I come across. Steve takes off his coat too but actually bothers hanging it up properly. The sleeves of his shirt are rolled up to his elbows, revealing a nasty purple bruise on his left arm.

“What’s this?” I say disapprovingly. “You got into another fight today, didn’t you?”

“No,” Steve respond instantly, then hesitates, “Yes. Maybe. It’s just a bruise, it’ll heal. You should’ve seen the other guy.”

“So you gave as good as you got?” I ask doubtfully.

“In a manner of speaking. I like to think that I scarred him emotionally,” Steve jokes.

Refusing to give a response to that, I merely shake my head in disbelief. Sometime Steve worries me - ok, not sometimes, all the time. It isn’t because he’s a 5’4’’, 95 pound asthmatic, or the fact he has several other health defects. It’s because he never quite knows when to quit, and he always feels the need to stand up to people who are rude or disrespectful. Which may seem like a strange thing to worry about, believe me I know. These qualities are things to be admired mostly, but I fear that one of these days Steve is going to upset the wrong person and get himself into a shitload of trouble that I won’t be able to help him out of.

There's a tense silence between us, like there always is these days. Everything seems different ever since I came back from the war.

Steve goes over and puts a record on and the music instantly fills the entire room. He starts whistling along as he goes to turn the kettle on. Every so often, I see his hand reach into his trouser pocket, as if checking something is still there. But I don't think much of it. When he turns around, I do the first thing that comes to mind and extend my hand to him.

“Care to dance?” I ask in my deep Brooklyn accent.

“I’d hate to step on your-” Steve is cut short as I grab his hand and pull him in. “-shoes.” Steve finishes, suddenly breathless at how close the two of us are.

The song’s beat picks up as Fred Astaire’s voice rings out through the apartment singing ‘The Way You Look Tonight’.

“Some day, when I'm awfully low, when the world is cold…”

Of all the times I’ve asked him to dance, Steve has blatantly refused. So I start singing along, hoping to change his mind, “I will feel a glow just thinking of you, and the way you look tonight.”

“You know, I’m not sure if I’ve mentioned this before but I’m quite terrible at dancing,” Steve insists.

“You may have said something like that. Multiple times. But dancing’s quite easy once you get the hang of it,” I reply, not really aware of what I'm saying. How easy it is to get lost in those startling blue eyes. “Here, let me show you…”

Reluctantly, Steve places a hand on my shoulder as I put my hand around his waist. Both of us sway in time to the rhythm as I guide him in circles around the apartment with ease. Or at least try. We aren’t exactly in sync to the music, always a beat or two behind. And Steve, as he promised, steps on my feet once or twice. He’s nervous, I can tell. Hesitant, too. As if dancing is a foreign art or there’s some secret to it he doesn’t know about. But all he needs to do is relax. I continue singing, “There is nothing for me but to love you, and the way you look tonight.”

To my delight, Steve decides to join in, and our voices echo off the walls of the apartment. He may not be much of a dancer, but boy can Steve sing. It’s a slow song and the music slows down my heart rate too as I get lost in the moment. The song is quickly over, but it feels like it lasts an eternity.

When it finishes, the next song starts playing. It’s another Fred Astaire song called ‘Puttin’ On The Ritz’. I flash a grin at Steve and he returns one tentatively. We try to keep up but the beat is a lot faster than the previous song and our footing becomes clumsy. A lot of furniture gets knocked over and we eventually end up in a tangled mess on the floor, breathless. But we both have stupidly massive grins on our faces so it was worth it.

There’s a flash of silver in the carpet that catches my eye. I walk towards it and it takes me a moment to realise it’s a ring. Curiously, I pick it up and turn to Steve.

“I think you dropped this,” I say, not questioning why he would just have a ring in his pocket. But the sheepish look on his face answers my question before I can ask. The two of us hesitate.

We’ve joked about getting married before, sure, with me being a bit more serious about it than Steve. But if he has a ring then that means… Maybe he’s more set on the idea than I’d realized.

The song draws to a close and silence makes its home around us again. A few seconds pass, then another song starts playing. As preoccupied as I am, I don’t notice which one it is. I’m waiting for Steve to say something, anything. But he doesn’t, so I have to find a way to break the ice.

“I guess I ruined the surprise.” I say eventually, trying a grin that Steve doesn’t return.

“Bucky…”

I feel my heart stop for a moment. There’s a sadness in Steve’s voice, and also a seriousness. Whenever he uses that tone, it’s never a good sign. 

“Unless you weren’t planning to do anything,” I say.

The mood of the evening has completely shifted and we both know we’re treading on thin ice. We have never really discussed our relationship in the long run. Sure, we’ve made jokes about it, and a few small arguments here and there, but nothing serious. At this day and age, it’s more than complicated.

“Bucky, I didn’t mean that-”

“No, no,” I interrupt. “It’s fine. Just… forget it, alright?”

I feel his eyes on my, but can’t bring myself to look up. Instead I distract myself and fumble with the ring in my hand, taking in every detail of it. It’s a plain silver ring with no gems embedded in it, but it does have etchings on the inside.

Neither of us speak, but I can feel his gaze on me the whole while. Eventually, I grow tired of the silence and tear my eyes away from the ring to look up at Steve.

“Then what did you mean?” I ask softly. If I speak any louder than that, I fear my voice will shake. I give a small, nervous scoff, “Do you really think I’d say no?”

“Not at all, but that’s the problem!” Steve replies. “I don’t… I don’t want to hold you back or anything.”

Oh, so that’s what this is about, I think sullenly. Not this again.

“Look, people like us aren’t exactly welcomed or accepted all that much,” he continues. “What would they say if they found out about us? You might lose your rank. Hell, you might even get kicked out of the war! Sometimes I feel like I don’t deserve you, and asking to make a commitment like that…”

He keeps talking, bringing up reasons and excuses that we’ve glossed over countless times before. I ignore him, and instead kneel down on one knee. This grabs Steve’s attention and he stops talking.

“Come on, Buck, what are you doing?” Steve asks, and I notice a slight eyeroll. He doesn’t think I’m serious.

“Well, someone has to ask, so if you won’t do it…” I take both of his hands in mine, then say in a somewhat mocking tone, “Steve Buchanan Rogers, would you-”

“That’s your middle name, not mine,” Steve chuckles.

“You should know, everything that is mine is already yours,” I reply, not caring how cheesy it sounds. I want to remember everything about this moment from the horribly striped suspenders he’s wearing to his muddy wingtip shoes. The song playing the background suddenly becomes vivid, and I recognise the lyrics.

“For I've got beginner's luck; the first time I'm in love, I'm in love with you…”

Steve’s expression softens. “So you’re serious, then?”

“Damn straight I am,” I reply with a smile. “So will you, Steve Buchanan Rogers-”

“Yes,” he responds instantly.

I get pulled to my feet and he wraps me in the tightest embrace. When he lets go, I say, “But you didn’t let me finish.”

“Oh, I’m sorry.” Steve has a teasing smile playing on his lips. “Please, continue.”

“You’re a punk,” I grumble.

“Jerk,” he replies, his grin widening.

My head is tilted downwards whereas Steve adorably has to gaze up and stand on tippytoes to fully wrap his arms around my neck. I reach down and brush a few loose strands of blond hair from his forehead. We’re less than an inch apart when I notice that there’s a tinge of green in the blue of his eyes. I doubt anyone has ever noticed it before. I’ve heard about eyes locking when two people stand too close to each other, but this is just mesmerizing.

Swift and sudden, I lean in and our lips brush together. Before I know it, I’m kissing him. And he’s kissing me back. My hand runs through his hair, ruffling it so that it stands out at all the weird angles. Not that I notice. With a heart beating so loud that I can feel each beat vibrating through my fingertips, I doubt I’d notice if a plane crashes into our apartment. I close my eyes, savouring the moment…

…silently hoping that tomorrow morning never comes.

 

 

~~~

 

 

The sunlight is the first thing I notice, glaring at me through cracks in the curtains. I turn over in bed and for one horrible moment my heart sinks when I realise Steve isn’t beside me. Maybe he’s left early to do some shopping because he knows saying goodbye again will be too much to bear. But then I smell scrambled eggs and relax when I hear Steve humming from the kitchen.

I want to go to him, but then I notice my brown duffel bag hanging on the door handle. Today's the day I'm returning to war. With a heavy heart. I get out of bed and grudgingly put on my uniform.

When I walk into the kitchen, Steve has a cheerful smile on his face. He hasn't had time to comb down his hair so it’s still all ruffled. That, and the lopsided grin on his face is enough for me to brighten up a bit.

Steve's wearing his ring on a chain around his neck. My ring is hanging off my dogtags. We don't want to attracted more attention than necessary.  
“Mornin’ Buck,” Steve says, wrapping his arms around my waist.

I hum happily, then plant a kiss on his forehead. “G’morning,” I mumble.

We eat breakfast in silence, mostly. Every so often I flicker my eyes up to the clock, watching with dread as the time approaches for me to leave.  
When the time comes, my heart is beating nervously. It’s not that I’m worried about returning to the battlefield. I’m worried about Steve, because I know that he will do his damnedest to follow me into war.

After shouldering my pack, I walk out into the hallway and see Steve waiting for me by the door. He steps forward then pulls me into a deep kiss. Instinctively I close my eyes, tasting the mint in his breath. Eventually we have to pull away.

“Don't do anything stupid while I'm gone, you hear me?” I say, trying to keep sadness out of my voice.

“How can I, you're taking all the stupid with you,” Steve replies, the ghost of a smile appearing. “Don't win the war until I get there.”

“I'll try not to.”

I can’t bring myself to smile back, so instead I stand straight and give him a salute before walking out. The door gives a soft click as it closes behind me.

 

 

~~~

 

 

Steve busies himself the rest of the day and the apartment is unusually quiet. Later that day, Steve decides to try out for the army again. Another fake registration form with saying he’s from Colorado. He knows the cover story well by now: His mother had been a nurse and his father had been in the 107th inventory when he died of mustard gas.

The man who is checking forms take one look at his and, to Steve’s disappointment, blatantly turns him down. But as he is leaving, one of the officers calls him over.

Steve swallows nervously as he is lead back in, noticing a sign on the wall that reads ‘It is illegal to falsify your enlistment form’. The officer takes him to a small room around the back. There's an old doctor there, mulling over his registration form. Damn, has he been caught? Well, it’s about time someone realised that he has been using fake birth certificates to sign up.

The doctor looks up from the form and peers at Steve through his circular glasses.

“Mr Rogers, correct?” The doctor has a foreign accent that Steve can't quite place. “I’m Dr Abraham Erskine, I represent the Strategic Scientific Reserve.”

He holds out his hand and Steve shakes it.

“So where are you from?” Steve asks.

“Queens,” Dr Erskine replies. “73rd street. Before that, Germany. Where are you from, Mr Rogers? It says here that you're from New Haven, or is it Houston? Or perhaps Pittsburg?” He sifts through what looks like Steve’s previous fake enlistment forms. “Five different tries in five different cities.”

“That might not be the right file.” _Way to go, Steve_ , he thinks sullenly, _try to lie your way out of this. As if it will do any good_.

“It’s not the files I’m interested in, it’s the five tries. Tell me, Mr Rogers, why do you want to go to war?”

The answer is obvious. Steve has always known what he wants, and why. But something about the doctor’s scrutinous look makes him hesitate.

When Steve doesn't reply, the doctor asks, “Do you want to kill Nazis?”

“Excuse me?” Steve asks, perplexed.

“Do you want to kill Nazis?” Dr Erskine repeats.

“Is this a test?”

“Yes.”

Steve pauses. “I don’t want to kill anyone. I don’t like bullies, I don’t care where they’re from.”

Steve’s reply seems to peek the doctor’s interest. “Well there are already so many big men fighting this war. Maybe what we need now is a little guy.” Dr Erskine pauses. “I can offer you a chance, only a chance.”

Steve doesn’t hesitate. “I’ll take it.”

“Good. I’d like to talk to you about a secret program called Project Rebirth…”

 

 

~~~

 

 

After heading back home to grab a few things, Steve realises that Dr Erskine hadn't told him how long Project Rebirth would last. So Steve take out a pen and write a note to Bucky just in case Bucky returns before him. Steve rereads the message multiple times before placing it on the dresser.

A note seems like a pathetic way of explaining himself and Steve can just about picture the disapproving look that will form on Bucky’s face when he reads it. Nevertheless, Steve knows that what he’s doing is right. Or at least he hopes it is.

Dr Erskine didn't really explain everything but if the experiment gets Steve into the war he isn’t going to complain. Besides, there's something about the doctor that makes Steve want to trust him.

Putting his coat on, Steve take one last look at the empty apartment before he leaves and the room is shrouded in darkness.

 

 

~~~

 

 


End file.
